


Stay with me

by WritingforTheAvengers



Category: Avengers, Falcon - Fandom, Marvel, Sam Wilson - Fandom
Genre: F/M, angsty and fluffyish, kpop song, the taeyang song not the sam smith one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingforTheAvengers/pseuds/WritingforTheAvengers
Summary: For worse or for betterJust stay with me forever





	Stay with me

It hadn’t been long since you and Sam had broken up, probably like a month or two—it couldn’t be more than that. You couldn’t really keep track of time anymore; it was an ability you lost after the break-up. The calendar and its numbers seemed like nonsense, but you were sure of one thing: days had not stopped.

  
You had broken up “well”, in a friendly manner, kind of. It still hurt the shit out of you to see him around the premises, but you couldn’t tell him to just stop working, the same way he couldn’t tell you to stop. Life goes on, and you’d just have to keep on living. The two of you had to.

  
You were keeping the inventory updated when a multi-voiced loudness interrupted your calm and your colleagues’ peace. You all turned your head and saw multiple Avengers carrying one badly-injured Sam Wilson inside the emergency wing. Your heart sunk inside you and a sudden fear took over you. He had come in injured before, but this was probably the worst hit he had taken. You shook yourself out of your stupor and decided to get going.

  
“Someone talk me through it,” you called out as you cut away his avenging suit and revealed multiple lacerations all over him. _This is gonna leave some ugly ass scars_ , you said to yourself. It was just automatic how you cleaned his wounds, you’d do it for any other patient, but there you were, with only silence around you. You looked at Steve, Nat and Barton, but they were tongue tied.

“Easy pal,” a weakened Sam chuckled shortly, but he winced in pain and groaned loudly. “I was tryna’ be a hero.”

“By getting yourself killed in the process,” you said in exasperation, but you had to admit that hearing his voice, and knowing that he was still on the side of the living kept you calmed. “This was one of the reasons we broke up, Wilson,” you chuckled lightly. “I need you to keep quiet and still, because this is gonna hurt.”

You kept working on him with your team and the standing Avengers were sent to the waiting room. This was the last thing you wanted to do, patch him up, but there you were, saving his life one more time. He was being brave and trying to hold on, but you told him you’d given him something to doze off and he said goodbye with a smile.

He spent the next few days recovering from the wounds and you kept a close eye on him. Unfortunately, his external wounds were not the only thing to worry about. You found out later that Sam had three broken ribs, which meant that his stay would be longer than you had expected—and secretly wished for.  
His fifth day in, you were looking after him while he slept. He was given some painkillers to sleep better, and by then they were just about to wear off. You looked at him from the top of your book, peering just slightly to check his screen and make sure he was still alive.

“You should go home, (Y/N),” he said weakly, half asleep, half drugged and half awake. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re here every minute and every hour, which—” he grunted as he tried to move, but desisted from the idea right away—“remind me to never let a guy hit me so hard with sonic gloves again in my life, please.”

“It’s no use,” you shook your head. “You never learn those things, Wilson,” you pursed your lips. “Besides, I just wanted to take care of you. How are you today? On a scale from one to—”

“Ouch, that hurt,” he frowned on the way to his lying position. “It hurts like hell, but you’re making it all better,” he smiled. “Though I’d really like if you’d get some well-deserved rest, your colleagues are just as capable as you are to look after me.”

“I just can’t seem to leave your side,” you grabbed the hand that rested on the bed and gently grazed your thumb over it. “I thought you wouldn’t scare me anymore, but you did. You scared the shit out of me, Wilson.”

“You look pretty when you worry,” he mumbled. You took nothing to it and shook your head lightly, since it was the drugs talking, but he saw right through you. “You know I never needed painkillers to tell you that,” he huffed a short laugh. “How’ve you been?”

“Worrying about your stupid ass,” you shot back in a joking voice. You couldn’t stand how awkward things were, and the only way to make you forget about it was just faking it. You were good at that, faking it was all good between you and that it didn’t hurt you to see him and see him like this. Yeah, fake it till you make it, or some crap of the sort. Besides, you didn’t want to tell him you missed him, or show any signs of weakness or regret. “You do know this is not gonna be easy, right?”

“I figured,” he pursed his lips. “Even breathing is difficult,” his breath hitched and he winced, “so I bet I’m gonna be here a while,” a heavy sigh escaped his lips.”

“A few days more, at least. If not a few weeks—you took a really big hit,” you shrugged and thumbed his hand once more. The roughness of his skin brought the best memories and, honestly, you didn’t want to let him go. “Sam, can I ask you something?”

“It’s gotta be important if you’re calling me Sam instead of Wilson, go ahead.”

“Can you not do this again?” You tugged at your bottom lip. “You still mean the world to me, and I wouldn’t know what to do if I can’t save you one day,” you intertwined your hand with his and patted it with your free hand. “You can’t always play hero, Sam,” he avoided your eyes and fell silent. This conversation wasn’t his favorite thing anymore. “Like I said… it’s no use,” you let go of his hand and left in silence; it was not your place to tell him what to do anymore.

Weeks after his accident, and when he was feeling much better, he invited you dinner at your old favorite place. You knew this was not going to be good for your heart, but you decided to go anyway because, just like him, you were incredibly stubborn; against all odds, you had an incredible time.

It was just like back then. He was funny, charming, witty, and literally the man you fell for once, but that you were not sure if you’d fallen out. You looked at him and your heart skipped a few beats, and it was worse when his leg found yours under the table, or when his hands found yours. You even started to think that everything he was doing was on purpose, but you didn’t want to get your hopes all high. Maybe he was just being nice.

At one point, you got bored of him being weirdly nice. “Are you flirting with me, Wilson?”

“For the past weeks, yes,” he said nonchalantly. “Thanks for noticing the last hour though,” he took the glass to his lips and had a sip. “It’s harder to flirt with you when there’s no alcohol involved, so yeah… And if you want to ask why,” Sam said before you could open your lips, “there’s no reason to that. I just feel like we’re a couple again and that I should flirt with you. I think I’m gonna get you back with this, but I know you better than that, and I know I hurt you more than I can recall and that you don’t want to be with me anymore because of that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You rose an eyebrow.

“Y’know,” he said in a serious voice, “we are not compatible—what we do. I wanted to make things work between us, but…”

“Sam…” you tugged at your bottom lip. “Do you wanna come home?” You sighed heavily and smiled; you couldn’t talk about it. “Don’t get your hopes too high, though—” you chimed in before he could say something naughty—“in your state, you won’t get laid until a week or more, and even then it has to be very soft, which, from what I remember, you’re not really into.”

“Neither are you, (Y/N),” he shot back, making an excellent point.

You took an uber back to your place and had some more conversation. It was just like the old days, or the after-sex conversations you used to have. It was so natural, you wanted to cuddle with him, but his ribcage was still a delicate area. The way he talked was hypnotizing, he could be just saying nonsense, but his voice, the deepness of it, enchanted you.

“I think I should go,” Sam sighed heavily. “Can you help me stand up? Your couch has a hole right in the middle.”

“We made that hole, Sammy,” you giggled. “Come on, I’ll help you,” you stood up and held his hands to help him stand up, but instead, he made you fall right on top of him to kiss you gently. You could notice his whole body trembled at the sudden pain that it must’ve caused him. You pulled back right in the middle of the kiss. “What did you do, you dumb ass?”

“As much pain as I felt, that was awesome…” he breathed. “God, I missed that—damn, it was worth it!”

“You’re an idiot,” you climbed off of him and instead, sat down next to him, gently curling your arm around his torso. “Do you miss us? Like, really miss us?” You couldn’t bear to look to look at him, even though the question lingered in your mouth for many, many days.

“Yes,” he replied simply. “All the time, but do you know what I miss the most?” He paused. “You. I miss you, (Y/N). Every minute of the day, I miss you. I should’ve told you to stay with me that day.”

“Sam, don’t—us, breaking up is not your fault—”

“It is,” he said sternly. “It all happened because of me—I should’ve listened to you each time you told me to take care, to not push myself. I pushed myself and look at where I am, wincing in pain every time you come near me… I want us to start over, I want to make things right.”

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to say that?” You said in a low voice. Your eyes were teary and you were sure the sound that would come out of your lips would be broken.

“Better late than never, I suppose,” he placed a hand under your chin and made you look at him. It was as if it was the first time you realized you were in love with him; the same feeling, the same butterflies. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m sorry for not respecting you, or what we had… If you take me back, I promise I’m gonna change—this time for real,” he gulped. “I know I’ve said it many times before, but now that I know what it is to live without you… I don’t think I want to risk that again…” your eyes betrayed you and before you could help it, you were crying. “Babe, no—don’t cry,” he dried the tears on your cheeks with his thumb, “I’m sorry,” he cooed. “I’m very sorry, baby,” he kissed the top of your head, “but go ahead, cry if you feel like crying,” if there was one thing you loved about Sam Wilson, is that he was the kind of guy that didn’t like to see you cry, but he allowed you to have your moment. “Yes, let it out, baby,” he gently breathed against your forehead, “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere…”

“I love you,” you sobbed. “I love you some much, Sammy…”

“I know, baby,” he smiled gently, wiping away the last few tears from your face. “I love you too, very much…”

“Stay with me,” you looked at him.

“I’m never leaving you again,” he leaned forward to press his lips against yours. “I swear I’m not gonna leave you, ever again.”


End file.
